


Mother of Order

by diamondhoe



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Sexual Assault, F/F, First Contact War, Headcanon, Mentions of Cancer, Translated from Russian by a Russian, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:09:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29529663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diamondhoe/pseuds/diamondhoe
Summary: Why is it so hard to come home from war?
Relationships: Original Female Turian Character(s)/Original Female Human Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV Lorik

Throughout his new assignment, the specialist couldn't shake off the feeling of not belonging to the unfolding scenario. Could've avoided being replaceable, he imagined, air escaping through bared teeth with a hiss. The position he was recently appointed to generously awarded the man with foul weather, damp air, which smelled of earthen berms, and, more often than not, comrades' blood. For what exactly? Younger Lorik Qui'in couldn't answer at the time, choosing to blindly follow his captain. The reasoning was simple enough to grasp: Nertus, being a daughter of a hastatim, had not only seen but gained some first-hand experience with matters the Hierarchy was sweeping under the carpet for the past millennium. Such as the current abomination of a military conflict.

Qui'in's chain of thoughts broke by the war prisoner's arrival. Not the first human ever to be interrogated, frankly, but the first civilian, lacking in height and muscle mass. Humans artificially undergoing changes drastic enough to be seen with an unaided eye meant they had better tech at home than demonstrated in combat so far, which was bad news for traditionalists, though the incomer himself ended up being better news for Lorik. Unlike lean, raven-haired city-dwellers, whose language turned out simply not convertible with portable equipment only, this specimen, undoubtedly created with the strangest colour scheme in mind, must've been one of the freelancers, as they referred to themselves. Well, at a given time they weren't, not anymore: three militiamen held captive, one on the run and one killed. The most obvious yet tricky way left was to rely on the remaining ones' cooperation without begging them to switch to their leading language or beating the shit out of them until they do so. Any intel, down to the smallest details and slightest movements, would come in handy in the nearest future, or so Lindra Nertus promised.

The human, now shirtless, was standing still in the middle of the barrack, facing away, doing some kind of breathing exercise; Qui'in couldn't help but admire his shoulder line. They all were like that, those aliens — not necessarily pretty, but refined enough to gain sympathy from everyone but themselves. That was yet another reason not to cut the conflict loose.

Both occupants were startled by poorly amortized clicking from the outside.

"You know what, chuvak?" Russian-to-common transmitter crackled, "I am leaving right now." 

Suddenly the man looked too young to be there, Lorik admitted to himself.

"Assume the position." the turian demanded, visibly calm, but his second set of vocal cords was already triggered.

"Suck [No Data], chuvak," the man mumbled, blocking his vision with his hand before turning around. "I don't know what y'all are after and..."

The door slammed open, revealing half a dozen of troopers and a few scouts, all cold, wet, and miserable. They'd just managed to clear the entrance when Lieutenant Qaskus himself barged in through an improvised door.

"My heated padding malfunctioned! And my damned spur re-broke again." — he slurred, eyes semi-drunk. It was his mentor who died in a human base, after all. "Hours plotting shit the admirals won't even look at while fine soldiers are wearing out. Don't they discharge those "special" ones earlier? Because our dear captain could sure as hell use an early retirement."

"Now, to the fun part," he glanced over his shoulder. Nobody moved. "They said they had a female here, but we'll have to improvise, I presume. They're not that different anyway."  


"You better stop right there," Qui'in protested, mainly because he was obligated to; not that he, a sophisticated fellow from Baetica, stood a chance against this Palaveni Equatorial-made pile of muscles. The trouble-maker didn't even bat an eye, meritocracy be damned, and proceeded to hit the captive in the stomach, then kneeled beside the limp body.

"I could sell these somewhere on Omega for a fortune," he purred, running talons through a mane of hazelnut hair. "Or better yet," Qascus yanked him forward, ignoring a cry of pain, "with the rest of you. Just let me try first. You and your pesky garrison owe me a lot of things after our last disembarkation..."  


A large, heavy hand grabbed the turian behind the collar. He froze, realization slowly showing through his bony face. After blowing the remaining air through his nose, he turned around.

A pair of venomous yellowish eyes were staring at him from seven feet above the ground. If they had belonged to somebody else, they'd have revealed not fury, but sour disappointment. Captain Nertus, however, knew her cold fury and embraced it like an ancient titan from old stories. It did nothing to suppress several shudders once everyone managed to take in her injured chin plate. It was a miracle the woman could still speak clearly. As for plastic surgery, turians were never big on that one.  


To the platoon's bewilderment, she threw the bastard to the side and went to check up on the aggrieved one first. In less than a second the human bit her finger; blue blood trickled down from under her glove.

"Good! Very good," she acknowledged. "At least one part of you whelps is not purely decorative."  


Her words hardly provoked any response.

"Leave him alone, he doesn't have an implant yet," a faint voice, melodic, but moderately coarse, responded from within the facility. Lindra's first reaction had been to knock whoever it was down a few pegs, but something, — a long-forgotten something — stopped her. She decided on calling a nurse instead.

"This one. Traces of foreign bodily fluids, even sweat, would kill our campaign on the spot. Not to disclose the incident to anyone, anywhere. Other than that, examine for wounds, test for allergy, all that shit... But don't waste what we found in that Base. Those are the last resort."

Upon turning around, Nertus found the remaining troopers who, by the looks of it, were trying to become one with the wall. The captain snickered. Nothing would've happened if she was the one to select the crew. Forty-five years of service, the rank other Tracians could only dream of, — nothing ever satisfied the higher-ups. But Nertus stayed, postponing her own life year after year. For the greater good, they said. If that was their idea of good, she'd rather pass, Lindra knew, but couldn't just give up. Not yet.  


After eyeing the men — her men, apparently — for another couple minutes, just so they could feel all the things they deserved to feel, she spoke. 

"Till this day, I wondered why the humans won't surrender. This settlement is new, therefore no big deal if lost, to a Council race nonetheless. But they were right, or so it seems; you are indeed animals. Standing there gaping, watching one of your own commit a crime!"

She fell silent to take a breath, and specialist Qui'in saw a tremor in her hands. The Captain haven't slept for too long. Not that she'd admit it.

"It has been decided upon: you are patrolling The River tonight".

Some rookie gasped, soldiers cringed. Only the lone Cabalim remained indifferent.

Even though Lindra hardly remembered her late father, she's had her time to learn how to execute dirty work cleanly. The River, if it even counted as one with its half-dead water, had already gained a reputation for humans ambushing patrolmen from under the water and throwing industrial-grade chlorohydric acid right into their cowls. Clearly, Quascus was to be next.

One by one, military personnel, apart from our heroes, exited the facility, dejected, but stoic as ever.

Nertus tinkered with confiscated human guns for a while, to calm the nerves, probably. "Early Unification wars era equivalent", she commented. Then threw it aside.  


"Enough games. Show me the one they protected. The very personification of the audacity who was busy growing us a bioweapon twelve days in."  


Lorik complied, but the tension in the air rose as they approached the destination. Once they arrived, it collapsed.

Inside the cell was a woman, age undefinable, fair hair in a loose braid, deep-set grey eyes tracking every movement. However, the most remarkable thing about her was not her appearance, but her attitude; she made no attempt to curl up in a corner, but sat on a cold bench like she owned the place. The collar of her shirt was soaked from a trickle of blood dripping from her nose. It was so bright against her greyish white skin that both invaders were torn between looking closer and looking away. Not even Batarians had such red blood.

"Let's start from afar." Lorik proposed, "What do they call you?"

A faint look of mischief appeared on the human's face.

"Leine. Maria Leine".


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV Maria

The unexpected thing was, she didn't feel what she was told she would; no fear, disgust, or denial. Nausea, though, was only getting worse. Doctor Leine has done everything within her power if not more. Now that persona was practically dead as payment for indirectly killing some big cheese of a skull-face. No way she would have wasted precious Medi-Shots, a Sirta Foundation prototype product, on an invader. Those little syringes of a miracle had been saving human lives for almost three weeks before she was compromised. Only one, Savich, escaped. Now, Maria, as a wife, a mother, a human, guarded the hope that he'll finish what they started. Tests on said big cheese revealed an obscure weak spot spiky bastards had — Turian respiratory system really didn't like the local climate. Modify some human rhinovirus, disperse it correctly, and half of them will be outside the game in a week. Other than that, there wasn't much to do besides playing cat and mouse, roles reversing constantly.

At a given moment the woman was seated behind an energetic field of sorts, listening to muffled sounds from outside the cell. It appeared that they failed to interrogate Sasha Svincov, her student. Maybe it was for the best — he had nothing to add anyway. Hardly anyone had.

After a break, she saw two subjects coming her way. One Maria already knew; his attitude reminded her of her husband back on Earth, of all things. The other one? Well, that was quite a sight. The closest she could think of was a character from an old movie her fourteen-year-old son made a presentation about as homework. General... Dreadful? Whatever. What mattered is that the alien was really fucking tall, taller than most males, had broader shoulders and a narrower cowl. A predator and no other way. Also, judging by the way she moved, a seasoned one.

"Your involvement with the "Systems Alliance" organization," the male inquired, after asking for the doctor's name. His voice was, if compared to others, rather pleasant even before a translator was installed behind her ear.

"Partnership," Maria answered.

"So, technically, you're not Alliance." Nertus continued, tone neutral. Still, Leine shuddered. This one's voice was accompanied by heavy subvocals. "I'd like to know by what authority you interacted with a prisoner of war."

"Self-preservation." the human didn't look frightened, at all. But was she, really?

"Wrong answer. Name the branch that gave you the right to detain one of our citizens and potentially violate Council Space laws."

"Branch? What branch?" Leine taunted, feeling a bit relieved at the word "potentially". Maybe they didn't know the work was completed. "We don't have any yet. Practically defunded armies a decade ago to focus on peaceful cooperation. Thought we'll find intelligent life in space. Our mistake."

"From now on, jokes aside, human." Lindra threatened, "I need to hear your version of the monstrosity going on in the suburbs." She stood up to loom over the woman and instantly regretted it: the captive smelled too nice for a levo specimen, and it messed with the turian's untraditional nature. Last time it re-surfaced years ago, with an asari. Didn't end well for either of them.

"Suburbs? Ah, you mean Diana, who bit someone's copulatory organ off? Don't worry, she came down with intoxication. Wonder how that happened, huh?"

"That was not one of mine!" The turian hissed with an unmistakable Tracian accent. "There are no fools in the special unit! And if they were, they're dead by now," captain failed to conceal a glance towards the entry.

"Qui'in, this is pointless. Should we leave her be?" 

"No, keep her talking. Decrypting program is incomplete," the other turian answered, back in his element.

The captain sighed and turned back to the captive.

"A decade ago, you said. Wonder how long your decade is if compared to the Thessian one. What exactly happened a decade ago?"

"Well," Leine averted her gaze, "things".

"Aren't they [No Data] by chance, those things of yours?" Lindra decided to play by the human's rules.

"I have no idea what the hell you just said, but I think I know what you meant," Maria crossed her legs. "It's a matter of time till somebody leaks the info. I'll save yours. We call them Protheans, and yes, there was a lot to unpack."

"You used to work there, didn't you," Nertus found herself getting excited for no apparent reason. After all those unproductive days the human woman felt like a goldmine. "How come we didn't meet you earlier, with your people’s love for activating sleeping relays?"

"You sound too eager to meet me, lady. Can't say I return the feelings."

"Answer the damn question."

"I think I'll pass", Maria renounced.

"Are you sure about that? Might be your only chance, " Nertus stated honestly.

"You're in the same shoes here, aren't you? I think I heard you discussing taking over Terra Nova. This knowledge is vital if you plan to chart the course. Not that they'll allow that."

"And... done", Lorik decreed.

Lindra found herself mulling over what she'd just heard. It turned out that humans' hearing was fine, just narrowly ranged. She walked out in the corridor to pour some water in a sterilized reservoir, then stepped back into the room and offered it to Leine. Maria took it but did not drink. The captain motioned to her to sit back. Then elaborated:

"Last time I checked, your military allows us just about anything. Civilian rebels, however... Not gonna lie: your species would've made an exceptionally good client race. And, while our original motive was stopping you from activating dark relays..."

"Wait," Maria chimed in, "All this shit show is solely about the relay?"

"It was at first. Now it is dominated by those who missed the war. I, however, care about my origins and am obligated to provide the best for the Hierarchy. That's why I'm in the middle of planning an invasion with no casualties: to make humanity cooperate," Lindra sounded positively excited until her unlikely conversationalist said:

"They won't. Cooperate, I mean."

Nertus stopped. Then, she lowered her head, face close to the human's.

"Didn't peg your people for noble warriors, dear."

"Because most of us are not," Maria explained. "We're a race of creators, not warriors. See this?" She raised her five-fingered hand. "Not for pulling the trigger, unlike yours," she gestured towards the turian's, with three strong fingers. "The reason is, we consider life sacred. You took lives. You'll take more by invading more worlds because we cannot live in captivity. It'll wipe out entire families. Do you wish for genocide, hm, Captain?"

"No. No, I don't," Lindra heard herself saying.


End file.
